Page 18

Leo stepped onto the balcony, the night air striking his overheated skin.

The kiss still burned through him—her taste, her soft gasp against his mouth, while London stretched beneath him—metallic and indifferent, streaked with the orange glow of traffic and street lamps.

He swilled vodka in a crystal tumbler. No ice—he needed the burn tonight, needed it sharp enough to scrape away the ache lodged behind his ribs.

He took a sip—the sting sharp against the back of his throat, as clean and biting as a winter morning in Moscow. A taste of home. Russian vodka. The only kind that mattered. His free hand curled around the railing, knuckles pale.

Behind him, through tinted glass and shadows, Kat slept in his bed. His room. His sheets.

He shut his eyes, as if that could erase the image. It wasn’t the kiss that wrecked him—it was everything behind it. Years of restraint. All the silent wanting. She’d looked at him like he was gravity—something to hold on to while everything else slipped.

Another swallow.

He didn’t know which was worse—how badly he wanted her, or how dangerous it would be if he let himself have her.

A muted sound behind made him turn.

Kat stood in the doorway, her newly shorn hair sleep-mussed, drowning in his charcoal cashmere sweater. The sleeves hung past her fingertips, the hem skimming her thighs. Moonlight glazed her legs in pale silver.

His last thread of control stretched, ready to snap.

“I can’t sleep,” Her voice was husky

His fingers solidified around his glass. “Me neither.”

She stepped up beside him, close enough that he could smell the faint trace of his soap on her skin. The concrete beneath his feet was suddenly less real.

“Your place is immaculate,” she said, nodding toward the darkened interior. “Everything in its place.”

“Force of habit.” He offered her his glass.

Her fingers grazed his, a brief touch, but it seared right through him. She lifted the glass to her lips, mouth touching exactly where his had been. A small gesture, but it felt more dangerous than the firefight they’d barely escaped.

“Do you remember Oslo?” She handed back the glass.

His pulse kicked. “Every detail.”

“I was terrified.” She leaned against the railing, eyes on the glittering city below. “Not that I would’ve admitted it then.”

“You hid it well.”

“Did I? I thought my heart was going to beat straight through my body armor.” She turned to look at him. “And your charming teammate—Rook. What a piece of work.”

He smiled despite himself. “James has a unique approach to interpersonal relations.”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Her laugh slipped out, warm and unexpected, sliding under his skin like silk. “What happened to him?”

“Runs a robotics firm now. High-end stuff. Military contracts.” Leo poured another splash of vodka. “Still lethal—just wears better suits. Still signs his messages: Trust no one. Especially me .”

“We were supposed to meet after.” Her voice softened. “Waffles and ice cream.”

His heart hit his ribs. “I got pulled for another op. Rook’s call, not mine.”

“Would you have come if it had been yours?”

He looked at her then. “Yes.”

She took the glass again. This time, her fingers lingered on his.

The vodka vanished in one swallow.

“That’s strong,” she said, a little breathless.

“Russian vodka,” he murmured. “Not for the faint-hearted.”

She set the empty glass on the table beside them. “I’ve never been accused of being faint-hearted.”

“No,” Leo agreed, unable to tear his gaze away from her. “You haven’t.”

Silence stretched—thick with everything unspoken.

The wind stirred, and she shivered.

“You should try to sleep,” he said, though every part of him ached to pull her close instead. “Tomorrow will be complicated.”

Kat looked up, city lights glinting in her eyes.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Her voice wavered on the admission. Cool fingers found his, gripping tight. “Stay with me?”

So much flickered across her face—uncertainty, resolve, vulnerability—all in a single breath. The smart thing would be to say no.

“Just for a while,” she added. Her pulse fluttered where his touch skimmed her inner wrist.

“Sure.” He followed her inside, to the wide sectional sofa in the living room. She curled into the corner, legs tucked beneath her. Leo sat close but maintaining a careful distance.

She moved first, shifting until her thigh brushed his, her shoulder against his arm. The hem of his sweater slipped higher, revealing the soft line of her thigh.

Her warmth bled into him, quiet and inescapable.

He hadn’t let anyone this close in years. Not like this. Not where it mattered.

After a heartbeat’s hesitation, he lifted his arm. She nestled beneath it like she knew the shape of his silence.

He reached for the throw blanket and draped it over them both.

Her head found its place on his chest, one hand resting gently over his heart. He wrapped his arm around her, holding her there, breathing her in. The clean scent of soap and sleep clung to her.

“Thank you,” she whispered against his shirt.

“For what?”

“For coming when I called.” Her words were hushed with exhaustion. “For finding me.”

He tightened his hold as her breathing slowed, her body melting into sleep.

“I’ll always find you,” he whispered, but she was already asleep, weightless in his arms for the first time since he’d arrived in England.

Leo stared at the ceiling, listening to the slow rise and fall of her breath.

Outside, the city carried on.

But inside this room, everything had changed.

The boundary between them wasn’t blurred anymore—it was gone.

And for the first time in years, he didn’t want to go back.